


Skal Eg Fylgje Deg

by raidspriestsandbabygoats



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, Kid!Athels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raidspriestsandbabygoats/pseuds/raidspriestsandbabygoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Athelstan is a little kid when Ragnar and the others raid Lindisfarne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ragnar poked his head into the small temple and slowly entered, Leif and Erik following him quickly and all three of them immediately focusing on the gold and silver cups and bowls and candlesticks that lined the room. Ragnar crossed the room in a few strides, glancing up at a wooden carving of a man on a cross before picking up a bowl and examining it carefully.

"I do not understand." Leif was still staring around the room. "Why would they leave such treasures unprotected? Is there some...some spell? Or some magic which protects them?"

Erik glanced at his son before walking over to a small table and picking up a candlestick, pausing for a moment before turning back to the other two, a small grin on his face. "It appears not."

"Maybe they think their god protects them..." Ragnar mused, still studying the bowl he was holding.

Erik scoffed and studied the wooden carving above Ragnar, gesturing to it with his axe. "If this is their god, then he is dead," he announced dismissively. "He is nailed to a cross."

"He cannot help anyone!" Leif sounded close to laughter as he joined his father. "He is not alive like Odin, Thor or Freyr!"

The three of them chuckled together before a soft noise, like a knock against wood, sounded from behind the large altar at the end of the room. All three men were immediately on guard, gripping their axes tightly as they turned towards the noise. Perhaps Leif had been right after all and there was some kind of magic here...

Ragnar crept silently towards the altar, his axe raised, and finally dived down behind it, reaching out with his hand...and pulling out a small child. He let out a small grunt of surprise and dropped the boy onto the floor. He glanced round at Leif and Erik and they looked back at him with identical expressions of shock and trepidation. The boy remained lying where he had fallen, gazing up at Ragnar with tear-filled blue eyes beneath a mess of brown curls. He clutched a book that seemed far too big for him to his chest as though it would protect him.

Ragnar eyed the strange object the boy held and grabbed it from him, flicking through the pages and studying the writing and illustrations he discovered inside it. As soon as the book was torn from his grasp, the tears that had been building in his eyes spilled over and streamed down his cheeks, and he waved his hands towards the book, wailing. Ragnar raised an eyebrow and quickly pressed the book back into the boy's hands, remembering how attached Bjorn had been to the wooden boat Ragnar had carved for him when he was younger. He sighed as the boy instantly calmed down again and he glanced again at Leif and Erik, silently asking them for guidance. They tried to avoid killing women and children on their raids wherever possible, but if Ragnar just left this little one here, it would be as good as killing him. There was little choice left but to take him with them. And besides, Ragnar found himself being reminded of Gyda when he looked at the child in front of him. Wordlessly, he grasped the boy's robes and lifted him up, sitting him on the altar to look at him properly.

At that moment, there was a clatter as the temple doors were flung open and Ragnar turned to see his brother striding in, casually cleaning blood off his axe. "This is a strange place indeed," Rollo remarked with a bemused smile at Ragnar. "We have been everywhere and we have found no women. Just these strange men." He turned and gestured to the small crowd gathering outside. "Take what you can. This is what we came for." He grinned at Ragnar and strode forwards, but suddenly stopped as he came close enough to see over Ragnar's shoulder. He stared at the boy, who was busy watching the flood of Northmen enter the temple and take all the bowls and plates and candlesticks. Ragnar glanced back at the boy, feeling a touch of sadness at the traumatised look on his face, before turning back to face his brother who was glaring at him. "Where did you find this one?"

"He was hiding. Behind this altar." Ragnar spoke calmly, ignoring his brother's glare. "I am taking him back to Kattegat with us. If necessary, we can sell him as a slave."

"There is no room left on the boat," Rollo countered quickly. "And besides, no one would ever take such a runt for a slave. We should just leave him here."

Ragnar's eyes turned cold and he stepped closer to Rollo, subtly making him move away from the boy. "I forbid it," he said simply.

Rollo glared at him and bared his teeth a little in a snarl. "How can you forbid it, little brother? We are equals..." His voice was dangerously quiet and his eyes glittered as he looked down at Ragnar.

Ragnar ignored his brother's confrotational stance and merely tilted his head. "Does it really mean that much to you, brother..? He is too young to live here on his own... You would kill a child younger even than your niece?"

Rollo glared at Ragnar for a moment longer before the quiet sound of the boy's sniffling and crying reached his ears. He sighed heavily and looked away from Ragnar, his gaze lighting on the carved figure on the wall. Gripping his axe tightly, he strode over to it and with two strong swings of his axe he cut the arms of the cross clean off. Breathing heavily, he stormed over to the trembling child and gripped his thin arm tightly, growling in his ear. "This is what we care for your god! If you cause any trouble on the boat, I will toss you over the side myself."

His threat made, he turned on his heel and stormed back outside, pushing past Leif roughly. The others slowly filtered out after him, and soon it was just Ragnar and the child left. The man sighed deeply and shook his head at the sound of the boy's continuing sobs, and he carefully picked the child up off the altar and held him close, gently pressing the boy's face against his shoulder so that he wouldn't see what had become of his home and the men who had shared it with him.

As they went out into the courtyard, one of the captured men sitting on the ground leapt to his feet as he saw Ragnar emerge from the prayer hall with his prize. Arne and Torstein immediately grabbed the man and forced him to his knees again. When the boy lifted his head from Ragnar's shoulder and met the eyes of the man, he quickly began wriggling to get free. Ragnar knelt down and set the child on the ground, scared of dropping him (again), and watched with curiosity as he trotted over to the kneeling man who immediately scooped him into his arms, looking at Ragnar fearfully.

Ragnar frowned slightly as he watched the two of them. Maybe this was the child's father...it would be a shame if he was; Ragnar had been getting quite attached to the little one. To take his mind off it, Ragnar quickly began ordering them all back to the ship. Ropes were fitted around the captives' necks, including the child's even though both he and the others cried and shook their heads, and they were dragged up and through the broken gates of the shattered monastery, the child's sobs providing a vocalisation to all of their feelings as bits and pieces of their home were carried away with them by grinning Northmen, all happy with the way things had turned out.


	2. Chapter 2

As they sailed away from the burning monastery (burning courtesy of Floki who had apparently let his enthusiasm for seeing parchment go up in flames get a little out of hand), Ragnar sat and watched the young boy. The man who had taken charge of him back in the courtyard still held onto him tightly and the boy sat quietly on his lap, looking at Ragnar with his wide blue eyes. Ignoring his brother's look to him, Ragnar slid off his perch and crawled over to him. The child shrank away from him a little and tightened his grip on the book still in his arms. Ragnar tried not to feel too disappointed at the reaction and instead settled down to sit in front of him.

"What is your name?" The boy looked at Ragnar blankly and tilted his head a little. Ragnar sighed and tried again, tapping his own chest. "I am Ragnar. Ragnar Lothbrok." The boy kept looking at him and nodded slowly. Ragnar tapped his chest once more, then tapped the boy's chest gently. "What is your name?"

The boy remained silent for a moment longer before mumbling something practically inaudible. Ragnar leant forwards and gestured for the boy to say it again. The child licked his lips nervously before putting his small hand on his chest. "A-Athelstan..."

Ragnar smiled slightly and patted the boy's curls. _Athelstan_. It was an odd name, but at least he now knew how to address the child. On an impulse, he gripped Athelstan's ribs and tried to pry him away from the strange man, but he chose that moment to wake and hold Athelstan tighter to him, babbling frantically at Ragnar in his strange language. Ragnar sighed and abandoned his attempts, moving back to the other side of the boat and watching almost jealously as Athelstan clung to the man.

The journey went on, with Ragnar talking to the child whenever he could. Of course, "talking" was a bit optimistic. Most of the time, their talks consisted of Ragnar pulling faces and making Athelstan giggle and clap his hands. The others just ignored this and a few (including Rollo) rolled their eyes, but Ragnar and occasionally Floki and Torstein would spend hours fawning over the child.

Then one day, when they were close to Kattegat, Ragnar was distracted from talking with Floki by a sudden panicked wail. Immediately, both men looked round at Athelstan who was shaking his keeper's arm desperately and poking his shoulder. "Brother Cenwu'f! Brother Cenwu'f!" Ragnar made his way over to them, frowning. He had noticed the man growing weaker since he had been put on the boat, and now his normally tight grip around Athelstan's belly was far too loose and his head was slumped at an angle that was too uncomfortable to be sleeping in. He glanced back at Floki and Torstein and the two understood immediately. Floki quickly swooped down and pried a sobbing Athelstan away from his dead friend, and Torstein helped Ragnar drag the man to the side of the ship and throw him over. Athelstan wailed and clung to Floki's shoulder with his little fists buried in the large sleeves of the too-big robes he was wearing. Floki petted the child's hair and glanced at Ragnar for help, completely unused to handling a small crying child.

Ragnar gave his friend a long-suffering look and took Athelstan from him, holding him close. "Ssh... You are okay, little one..." Athelstan stopped sobbing for a moment to look at him with a devastated expression before he promptly buried his face in the curve of Ragnar's neck and resumed his crying, albeit slightly more muffled than before. Ragnar rubbed the boy's back gently and sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. Eventually, the child's sobs gave way to tired hiccups and he finally fell asleep in Ragnar's arms.

A few hours later, they arrived in Kattegat. Ragnar reluctantly passed Athelstan to another of the captives as he helped to moor the ship. As everyone worked to unload the priests and treasure from the boat, Ragnar bent down to pick up Athelstan's book that had slipped from his arms in his distress. He tucked it carefully under his arm as he jumped off the boat and slid the book into his pack, then grabbed Athelstan back from the priest with a possessive glare, as though the poor monk had taken Athelstan from him in the first place.

Amidst the noise and chaos of families greeting returning husbands and fathers and sons, as well as the cheers and words of praise directed at Ragnar, one man stood unnaturally still and silent. Ragnar narrowed his eyes slightly and headed towards him, holding Athelstan close. "Cnut," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You are too late. You missed the boat!"

Cnut merely gave him a look. "Earl Haraldson wishes to speak with you in the Great Hall." His eyes slid to the child in Ragnar's arms, who immediately began wobbling his bottom lip and filling his eyes with tears. Ragnar lifted the boy more securely into his arms and set off towards the hall, cheers and piles of treasure following him.

* * *

Earl Haraldson sat quietly, listening to Ragnar's story and internally fuming. It was bad enough that Ragnar had taken it upon himself to disobey his orders, but to make the betrayal so public? And by the gods was it necessary for him to take so much joy in it? The man was unbearable. The Earl had made up his mind that he would punish them all for betraying him as they had done, but he never thought he would take so much pleasure in doing so. Still, if anyone needed reminding of their place, it was Ragnar Lothbrok.

"Here's what I have decided to do." The Earl nodded and his soldiers quickly filled the hall, the boy in Ragnar's arms beginning to whimper softly. "Each of you may take one thing from here."

"One thing?!" The outrage in the room was almost tangible, but the Earl didn't care. It was worth it if they learnt their lessons.

"Yes," he stated calmly. "And you'll still be richer than you were before." He glanced across at Siggy who smiled and nodded encouragingly at him. "Go ahead then, Ragnar Lothbrok. What will you choose?" _As if it wasn't obvious..._

Ragnar looked around at the piles of treasure his men had brought in with them and made a great show of pretending to choose something before turning back to the Earl. "I will take the boy," he said clearly, holding Athelstan tightly as if daring someone to try and seperate them. "For my son."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Siggy spluttered with laughter, others soon joining in. Athelstan gazed around the hall, confused, before pressing his face against Ragnar's shoulder and letting out a muffled sob which only made them laugh harder. The Earl, however, didn't laugh. Instead, he studied Ragnar carefully. The man already had a son - a good one too, if he remembered right. Why would he take a runt from the west as one of his own if not to raise a force against him someday? Still, the child was a weak one and cried at the slightest thing; if Ragnar wanted to make him a warrior, he would need all the luck of the gods. "Granted."

* * *

Ragnar sighed in relief as he walked down the path towards his farm. It had been a long journey and Athelstan had spent much of it wriggling around into the most awkward positions possible. Still, he imagined it would all be worth it when Lagertha saw that they had a new son. He saw Gyda playing in the yard and he grinned, placing Athelstan down on the ground near a wooden pole which he immediately latched himself to, like a little bear cub. Ragnar patted the boy's curls gently and crept up behind Gyda, letting out a sharp crow like a cockeral. Gyda gasped then turned to face him, laughing as she hugged him. "I told them you'd come home!"

"Father!" Ragnar barely had time to stand up before Bjorn charged at him. "You're home! Did you reach the west?" Ragnar laughed and grabbed the back of Bjorn's head, pushing it down gently.

Lagertha smiled as she stood in the doorway of the house, watching Ragnar with their children. When his eyes met hers, she finally stepped forwards. "So...where is all the treasure you promised?"

Ragnar hesitated and looked down, somewhat sheepishly. "The Earl took it all for himself." As Lagertha's face darkened, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "But I found it. And it filled the boat."

Lagertha's eyes brightened again at the thought of so much treasure but she quickly twisted the look into a teasing one. "I don't believe you..."

Ragnar grinned and kissed the tip of her nose before pulling back slightly. "You should believe me." He turned away to look at the boy and chuckled as he saw him struggling to climb up the pole. "This is a child I found at the temple we raided. Though he is a foreigner, I believe the gods guided me to him." He looked back at Lagertha, excitement gleaming in his eyes. "We have another son."

Silence descended on the yard as the family regarded the strange boy and he looked back at them with his wide eyes. Gyda smiled and gave the boy a shy wave while Bjorn scowled fiercely at him. Lagertha looked from Ragnar to the child and back again, frowning uncertainly. Ragnar went back over to Athelstan and pried him away from the pole. "His name is Athelstan. Athelstan," he turned Athelstan's face towards the group gathered near the house. "This is my family."

Athelstan wiped his eyes and looked at each of them with a certain degree of suspicion, which Bjorn immediately returned before storming back into the house. Ragnar sighed heavily and stroked Athelstan's curls gently. Gyda hesitated for a moment before slowly walking over to them, giggling when Athelstan waved at her. "Does he not speak, father?"

"Maybe you can help to teach him our language, hm?" Ragnar smiled and carefully handed the boy to Gyda, quickly correcting her as she almost held him upside down. "He seems intelligent enough to be able to learn fast." He bent down and kissed the top of her head and patted her back as she waddled into the house with the child, cooing over him.

"Another son?" Lagertha folded her arms and narrowed her eyes as she looked at Ragnar. "And you'd choose a foreigner?"

Ragnar sighed deeply and looked at her. "We have wanted more sons, have we not? And what does it matter where he came from? He will grow to become one of us."

"With a foreign name? Brown curls on his head? And dressed in that...sack?" Lagertha scoffed and shook her head. "He is not our son, Ragnar. Even if he grows up speaking our language."

"You can always make him different clothes..." Ragnar joked, tilting his head and smirking slightly. When she merely rolled her eyes, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her lovingly. "We can keep trying for our own sons. But if the gods wanted me to meet him, then why would I argue? He had no one. I couldn't just leave him there."

Lagertha sighed and kissed Ragnar again before slapping his shoulders. "Very well. But you are in charge of him. And we'll need to work harder on the farm to get some muscle on him. I don't know what food they have in the west, but he looked to be nothing like a son of a warrior and a shieldmaiden should be."

Ragnar nodded happily. To be honest, he couldn't have wished for a better deal. Certainly he didn't view the prospect of being responsible for the little one to be a hardship. Though the crying might be a problem. As if on cue, there was suddenly a loud wail from inside the house. Ragnar frowned and rushed inside, closely followed by Lagertha. As soon as they saw the reason for the commotion, they both had to cover their mouths to hide their laughter. Athelstan was sitting on the table, tears streaming down his cheeks as Gyda, undettered by the reaction, continued twisting his curls into short braids, the effect being completed by a few flower buds. Bjorn, meanwhile, had evidently been designated the uneviable task of holding the child still while Gyda worked and he made his displeasure clear by growling at the smaller boy, making him wail louder.

Ragnar immediately strode over and gave Bjorn a solid cuff on the back of his head before waving Gyda away and scooping Athelstan off the table, glancing back at Lagertha with a small chuckle. "Well... He certainly looks like the son of a warrior now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll be honest, I have no idea what the process would have been for adopting a kid (if there even was one), so I basically just had to twist the scene with Haraldson as it stands in the episode into how it would be just if Athelstan was a child...


	3. Chapter 3

For such a seemingly fussy child, Athelstan managed to settle into his new life fairly easily. Of course, it helped that nearly everyone fawned and fussed over him endlessly. More than once, Bjorn ended up having to almost physically drag Ragnar away from the child in order to do their training. Ragnar had tried including Athelstan in the training but the boy had taken one look at the shield and the wooden sword and had immediately waddled back inside the house, sobbing.

Instead, he seemed quite content with spending most of his time with Gyda, with her teaching him odd phrases and words in their language. As Ragnar had predicted, Athelstan turned out to be a keen learner (though it didn't stop him making odd mistakes at times, then crying when Gyda began giggling). At other times he would help Lagertha with the cooking - "helping" in Athelstan's mind meaning climbing up onto the table and rolling the food around, mumbling whatever new words he had learned that day to himself.

There were rarely times when the boy was left on his own, but when he was, he would crawl over to the ash left over from the fire and draw odd pictures with the help of a half-burned stick he had managed to save a few days after he had arrived. One day, Ragnar came inside to fetch a drink for himself after a hard training session with Bjorn, and he groaned when he saw Athelstan covered in ash and dirt from the fire. Bathing the boy proved to be something of a challenge and he tried to avoid doing it whenever he could. He half considered going to find Lagertha before deciding the effort wouldn't be worth the subsequent argument.

As Ragnar bent down to lift the giggling child from the mess, his eyes fell on the drawing and he paused, tilting his head. He was only dragged back to the present when Athelstan whimpered his displeasure at being dangled half off the ground. "Sorry, tiny one." Ragnar chuckled and picked him up properly, still looking at the drawing. "You did this?"

Athelstan looked down at the drawing, then back at Ragnar, his eyes wide and glowing proudly. "King!"

Ragnar tilted his head, looking at the crude drawing of a large man sitting on a chair that seemed like it would be too small for him. It couldn't be King Horik - even for a child's drawing it looked nothing like him and _how would Athelstan know what Horik looked like anyway Ragnar, you great oaf..?_ So if it wasn't their king, then...it was Athelstan's king. In England. Ragnar grinned to himself and kissed Athelstan's curls, earning himself a loud giggle from the boy. He placed Athelstan back down on the ground by the ash and crouched in front of him. "Do another. Go on."

Athelstan blinked at Ragnar uncertainly before picking up his stick again and drawing a large round shape, almost like a circle. He frowned at it for a moment before nodding and gazing at Ragnar expectantly, waiting for another compliment. Ragnar stared down at the circle before raising an eyebrow at Athelstan. The boy frowned and poked the end of the stick into the middle of the circle insistantly. "Eng'and. Eng'and!"

Ragnar slowly looked back at the circle and grinned, patting the boy's head and pulling him into a hug. Bathing the child could wait, he decided. For now, he had a much better idea of how they could pass the time.

* * *

A few days later, Ragnar was walking through the streets of Kattegat on his way to visit the Earl, dragging a very disgruntled Athelstan with him. The boy hadn't slept well the night before (Ragnar took it as a sign that it was a bad idea to tell him the binding of Loki as a bedtime story), and his mood was only worsened by Ragnar refusing to carry him once they reached Kattegat. "You have two legs," Ragnar told him sternly. "Two working legs. I am not a horse to carry you everywhere. How will you grow strong if you don't do some work for yourself?" Athelstan had pouted and sobbed until Ragnar simply tied a rope around the child's waist, pulling him along.

As they walked, they passed by a couple of figures hanging off posts by their wrists. Ragnar walked straight by them, only stopping when he heard a piercing scream sound from behind him. Turning, he saw Athelstan standing frozen to the spot, his eyes fixed on the figures and his mouth wide open as he kept screaming. Ragnar glanced at the figures and felt his heart sink as he recognised the monk who had taken Athelstan off the boat, hanging lifeless and swaying in the wind. Sighing, he tried to tug Athelstan away from the sight but the boy stood firm.

"Need some help, little brother?" Rollo strode over to them, wrinkling his nose at the sound of Athelstan's screams.

Ragnar sighed in defeat and nodded slowly. "I have to see the Earl. And Athelstan is being difficult."

"What do you expect? He is a western brat..." Rollo smirked but quickly straightened his expression when Ragnar glared at him. He sighed and held out his hand. "Well, do you want me to take him while you go and talk to Haraldson?"

Ragnar was taken aback by the offer and he raised a sceptical eyebrow as he studied his brother through narrowed eyes. "You wish to look after him?"

"Why not? It cannot be so difficult if even you could manage it." Rollo rolled his eyes and snatched the rope from his brother's hand. "I can handle him for a little while. Besides, I do not think Haraldson would appreciate having a wailing infant in his halls..."

Ragnar felt distinctly uneasy about leaving the child in his brother's care but in the end, he couldn't argue with Rollo's last statement. And he'd need the Earl as much on his side as possible. "Very well," he finally muttered grudgingly. "I will collect him again before long."

Rollo nodded dismissively, and waved his hand. "Of course... Now you won't want to be late to your meeting..." Ragnar ran a hand over his hair and nodded, giving them both one last look before turning and hurrying away towards the Great Hall.

* * *

A few hours later, Ragnar burst into the tavern. He looked around with a worried look in his eyes before his gaze finally settled on Rollo sitting in the corner of the tavern, Athelstan sitting on his lap with a horn clutched in his small hands, and an attractive girl opposite them. Ragnar stormed over to them and stood over his brother, glaring down at him. "I have been looking everywhere for you, brother..." He frowned and pried the drinking horn away from Athelstan, ignoring the boy's whimper, and his frown deepened as he sipped the drink. "Ale?!" He stared at Rollo in disbelief. "You've been giving Athelstan ale?!"

"Oh calm down, little brother!" Rollo laughed. "At least it has kept him quiet..."

Ragnar somehow managed to refrain from cuffing Rollo's ears and instead grabbed Athelstan off Rollo's lap and spun round, storming back out of the tavern. Athelstan whined and wriggled in Ragnar's grip, tears dribbling down his cheeks as he sensed Ragnar's anger. Ragnar merely looked at him and unceremoniously placed him back on the ground. "Oh, so now you feel like walking? Very well. Then you can walk back home." Athelstan gazed up at him sadly and sniffled, wiping his eyes. Ragnar shook his head and turned away, moving a few paces away from him.

Athelstan watched him go and looked around, fear rising inside him. After a moment of hesitation, the boy pushed himself to his feet and trotted after Ragnar, latching himself onto his leg. Ragnar took a deep breath and reached down to pat the child's head lightly, stroking his curls, before carefully picking him up and setting off on the long journey back to the farm.


	4. Chapter 4

Athelstan blinked and dragged his sleeve across his eyes, rubbing the lump on the back of his head as he looked up at Bjorn. Bjorn gazed back at him with a bored expression on his face, shifting the wooden training sword he held in his hand to get a better grip on it. "Are you going to get up?"

Gyda sighed and grabbed her brother's arm as Athelstan's chin began wobbling. "He doesn't want to fight with you, Bjorn. Father said we have to look after him."

Athelstan took the opportunity of Bjorn's momentary distraction to crawl away behind the pole, pulling the hood of his monk's habit he still wore up over his head. He curled up against the pole and tucked his thumb into his mouth, frowning thoughtfully. He had no idea what he was meant to do with the large stick Bjorn kept pushing into his hands, only that Bjorn held a similar stick and kept using it to make him fall over. Which he didn't find fun at all.

He missed Ragnar, he knew that much. And he missed Lagertha too. It had taken all four members of the family to pull him away from Ragnar's legs when the day came for them to leave, and he had spent the rest of the day curled up under the blanket that covered his bed, sobbing. He had only emerged when he smelt the fish Gyda had cooked for supper. And he still didn't understand why Ragnar had apparently left Bjorn in charge... It wasn't often that Athelstan thought Ragnar was crazy in his decision making - his insistance that the child should wash every single week was really the only major problem the two of them had with each other - but Bjorn? In charge? Athelstan tutted and shook his head sadly.

Still, at least he had found a good hiding place now so that Bjorn wouldn't be able to knock him down again... He pressed back against the pole and closed his eyes. He was just about to fall asleep when suddenly he felt himself being lifted off the ground. "There! I told you he didn't run away!" Gyda held Athelstan round his waist tightly and grinned triumphantly at her brother.

Bjorn, however, merely scowled at the two of them and stuck his sword into the grass. "Look at him! He is useless! He cannot fight and does not even want to learn! What kind of man does father even think he'll grow up to be..?" He growled at Athelstan who immediately wriggled around in Gyda's arms and pressed his face against her shoulder, closing his eyes and desperately trying to fall asleep. Bjorn groaned in frustration and stormed off back towards the house. Gyda sighed and trotted after her brother, rubbing Athelstan's back gently.  
* * *  
Supper that evening was an unusually tense affair. Bjorn refused to let Athelstan help with preparing the meal, instead ordering him to sit at the table and glaring at him until the child scrambled onto his stool and sat silently with his hands folded in his lap. When the time came to eat, Athelstan only mumbled the odd prayer he normally recited loudly and with surprising confidence. He crossed himself quickly and glanced at Bjorn nervously before deciding the best way to distract himself from his nerves was to start eating.

The children all ate in silence for a while until Bjorn sighed and leant forwards, folding his arms on the table. "I want to go to Kattegat."

Gyda and Athelstan exchanged glances as Bjorn watched them intently. "You can't just go, Bjorn," Gyda reminded him gently. "Father left you in charge. And he told Olina to look after us."

Bjorn sighed. Olina would never let him go to Kattegat, not since Earl Haraldson's steward had taken her son there, a few days before Ragnar had returned from the west with Athelstan, and never brought him back. Bjorn knew exactly why Ragnar had chosen her to watch over them: no one is better for watching over children than one who lost one of their own by letting them out of their sight. Still, he had managed to get her to leave them alone for most part. "She does not look after us," he argued. "We look after ourselves."

Athelstan thoughtfully chewed the mouthful he'd just started eating, remembering when Ragnar had taken him to the town and he had seen his friends looking broken and fastened to poles, and the child gazed at Bjorn earnestly. "Cat gut's bad." He nodded and instantly shovelled another spoonful of food into his mouth. When he noticed Bjorn staring at him, looking thoroughly confused, he swallowed and tried again. "Don't go cat gut. It's bad!"

Bjorn looked to Gyda helplessly. Gyda quickly tried to stop herself laughing - at Athelstan's speech and also Bjorn's expression. "He means Kattegat. He says it's bad. And anyway, you know Olina won't let you go."

Bjorn groaned and sighed in annoyance. "Then we should all go. The four of us." At this, Athelstan looked absolutely horrified and shook his head firmly, his eyes filling with tears as he gripped the edges of his stool firmly. Bjorn sighed again. "I want to make a sacrifice. To Thor. For our parents' safe return."

Athelstan closed his mouth (which he had opened in anticipation of a wail), and wiped the unspilled tears from his eyes. "What's sac'fice?"

Bjorn glared at him and stood up, leaning over the boy. "You!" He pushed his cup and plate off the table and stamped away, climbing up into his bed and pulling the furs up over his head.

Athelstan watched him go and frowned a little with confusion before turning to Gyda. "I'm a sac'fice?"

Gyda shook her head quickly. "No. Bjorn was just being mean. You're not a sacrifice." She sighed and got up from the table to pick up the mess on the floor. She wiped the grease on her hands off onto Athelstan's hood and lifted him off the stool, carrying him off to get him ready for bed.  
* * *  
It was the middle of the night, and still Athelstan couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, wriggling around in the blanket, but still he had no luck. Sighing heavily, the little boy sat up and shifted to the edge of the bed and lowered himself down onto the floor. He trotted over to the small hole in the wall where he kept the book he had saved from Lindisfarne and dragged it out, sitting down and crossing his legs as he opened it. He stroked the pictures and letters with his small fingers and smiled to himself as he remembered Brother Cenwulf reading him stories from the book and even sometimes letting him watch as he drew the illustrations for it.

The smile on his face quickly gave way to silent tears as, for the first time, Athelstan truly began longing for the life he'd used to live back at the monastery. Yes, Ragnar and Lagertha were nice to him. So was Gyda and the three men who often came to visit the farm - one he recognised from when Ragnar had found him, one with long blond hair that Athelstan had quickly discovered was best way of getting the man to slow down when he carried Athelstan around the farm on his back, and one who seemed reassuringly short (even if Athelstan still wasn't allowed to see why one of his eyes was covered). Even the strange man with black all around his eyes was nice to him. But there was still so much that confused Athelstan about his new home, and much that scared him as well. And all the child wanted at that moment was to be safely tucked into his familiar cot in the dormitory with the comforting sound of Brother Cenwulf's voice lulling him to sleep, just as it had always used to do.

A sudden hoot and rustle of wings startled him and he quickly closed the book and pushed himself to his feet, looking around nervously. The hoot came again, close to his ear, and he turned slowly and gasped as he saw a pair of bright orange eyes staring at him. The owl opened its beak and screeched at him, unfurling its wings and spreading them wide. Athelstan whimpered and fled, rushing to find the first person he could think of.

"Bjorn!" Athelstan grabbed Bjorn's arm which was hanging out of the bed as he slept. "Bjorn!"

Bjorn groaned and slowly opened his eyes, blinking dopily. When he saw Athelstan he groaned again and rubbed his eyes. "What is it?" he muttered, his voice reflecting the annoyance he felt at being woken up.

Athelstan glanced back to where he slept, frowning as he saw the bird had disappeared. He looked back at Bjorn and bit his lip, wondering what to say. Finally he took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. "I-I'll go cat gut. If you want go..."

Bjorn stared at the child in surprise. Judging by his reaction when Bjorn had suggested the idea at supper, Athelstan must have been scared of the place for some reason. That couldn't change in just a few hours. Bjorn ran a hand through his hair and smiled to himself. Maybe Athelstan wasn't such a little coward after all. "We will go tomorrow." He watched as Athelstan nodded and hesitantly reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "Go to sleep. You need energy for walking there." Athelstan nodded again and gave Bjorn a small smile before shuffling back to his bed. Bjorn stayed sitting up, making sure Athelstan climbed into his bed and got under the blanket before slowly lying down again, smiling fondly up at the ceiling and slowly falling back asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Athelstan frowned as he sat on his stool in the corner of the tavern. The sun was down, the sky outside the door was black and if he tilted his head he could see the silver edge of the moon. It was most definitely night. So why on earth didn’t anyone seem to realise that it was time to stop making so much noise and sleep..? He heard a thump and scrambled up onto his feet, wobbling a little on the stool. Bjorn was lying with his head on his mother’s lap, a dopey but contented smile on his face. Athelstan nodded to himself as he cautiously lowered himself back down to sit on the stool. At least Bjorn seemed to be behaving properly, though he couldn’t think how his brother could sleep in the middle of such noise. 

The child folded his arms and pouted as Ragnar picked his way over to him. “What is that face for?” Ragnar poked Athelstan’s nose gently, lifting him into his arms. “Lagertha and me are both free, and you finally have some decent clothes that don’t make you look like you decided to put on the flour sack.” Ragnar tugged at the tunic that Gyda had made for the boy and grinned at him. “There. Now you look like one of us! Except for those curls,” Ragnar ruffled them a little, finally drawing a small smile from Athelstan. “But they will soon grow... And you will be a fierce little warrior!” Ragnar bared his teeth at him and smiled as Athelstan growled playfully back at him.

“And who knows, Ragnar? Maybe he will help you win against Earl Haraldson!” Both Athelstan and Ragnar looked up to see a very drunk Floki standing over them. He grinned down at both of them and gulped the rest of the mead that was currently in the jug he was holding. “D-Did…Did you see Haraldson’s face…w-when he had to let you go, Ragnar?” Ragnar chuckled with the others and shrugged, holding Athelstan tightly around his waist and hoping that Floki would pass out before anything too embarrassing could happen. Athelstan may have been getting increasingly braver, but he still seemed strangely sensitive about certain things… Floki grabbed Leif’s cup from his relaxed grip (if Leif noticed, he didn’t say anything. Everyone knew that when Floki wanted something, it was better for everyone to let him take it), and joined in the laughter. “H-He…He was like…” He pulled a face that might have resembled a mildly outraged fish and the tavern roared with laughter. Athelstan laughed and clapped his hands, and Ragnar grinned and patted the boy’s curls softly.

Suddenly, a malevolent presence seemed to settle in the room and the laughter slowly quietened. Athelstan frowned as he felt Ragnar’s grip tighten around his waist and he tried to crane his neck to see what was happening. Several men had entered the tavern, bristling with weapons. Everyone was suddenly tense and Athelstan noticed Leif shooting worried glances at the door. Athelstan recognised a few of the men from the Great Hall that afternoon and he scratched his head, wondering what was wrong. Maybe they were going to be told off for making so much noise and be made to go to bed at last. Athelstan remembered once being told off by a very cross Father Cuthbert when he and one of his friends, Brunwulf, had been in the middle of the very important process of slaying the Blanket Dragon with their pillows, and had been ordered to go to sleep straight away. He hadn’t even been allowed to hear Brother Cenwulf reading to him from the book he had brought with him. Maybe these men were here to make them all go to bed straight away with no more fun… Thinking it worthless to try arguing, Athelstan slithered out of Ragnar’s grip and trotted through the maze of legs towards the open door.

“Athelstan!” Ragnar hissed, his jaw clenched. “Athelstan, come here!”

Athelstan paused, almost at the door and blinked at him. “We go bed!” he said, thinking it the most obvious answer in the world. Ragnar didn’t seem to think so though and Athelstan sighed heavily, shaking his head with a long-suffering look in his eyes. He waved his arm towards the door and began walking again. “We go bed!”

“Athelstan!” Ragnar paused as one of Haraldson’s men scooped the boy up just as he was about to go outside. He glared at the man and stepped forwards, his hand resting on the handle of his axe. “Put the boy down.”

The man looked at Ragnar then at Athelstan then back at Ragnar. He smiled and shrugged. “As you wish.” He held Athelstan away from him and dropped him onto the floor. There was a moment of silence as everyone watched Athelstan sit up slowly, rubbing his head where it had knocked against the floor. He looked up at the man, then at Ragnar, took a deep breath, screwed up his face and wailed.

Instantly, Ragnar’s axe was buried in the man’s arm and he scooped the sobbing child off the floor, thrusting him into Lagertha’s arms as violence exploded around them. “Lagertha! Look after the children!” Without pausing to make sure she had heard, he turned back and finished off the man who had dropped Athelstan as Ragnarok itself seemed to break loose around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: 1) I'm sorry this one took so long (and sorry it's a little rubbish) but I've been busy moving off to uni and stuff and then my internet wouldn't work. But it's all sorted now thankfully.  
> 2) I know I'm time-jumping worse than Hirst but...well we all know how the story goes and at the moment I'm just mainly trying to focus on how certain things might have been changed if Athelstan was younger. And in season 1 it's mainly only little scenes. I like this AU though so maybe I'll write more one-shots later filling in the blanks of everything I missed here...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long... I couldn't decide whether I wanted to write a variation of the "Am I still your slave?" scene but in the end I couldn't find a way to do it so I went straight on to deal with Haraldson's raid on the farm...

Athelstan was busy playing in the yard when he heard the distant sound of someone screaming. He frowned and pushed himself to his feet, waddling forwards and squinting against the sun. He could dimly make out people running up from the beach with Bjorn near the front. He glanced back at Lagertha and Gyda inside the house and trotted over to the pole at the edge of the yard and began struggling to climb up it, curious to see what was causing all the commotion. He was still embarrassingly close to the ground when Bjorn reached him and tugged him away from the pole. Athelstan whined in protest as Bjorn practically dragged him back into the house, but he fell silent as he sensed the worry and panic building in the air. Gyda was already clutching the knife that Lagertha had been using to chop vegetables and Bjorn quickly set Athelstan down to receive the axe Lagertha pressed into his hands.

The moment Athelstan’s feet were on the floor, he was trotting off to his sleeping area with a determined look on his anxious face. He had no idea what on earth was happening but he decided he didn’t like it at all. It reminded him of when Ragnar and his friends had come to Lindisfarne, and just as he had done then, he made straight for where he kept his book, determined to keep it with him no matter what. “Athelstan!” He heard Lagertha calling him and he hugged the book close, finding it a little smaller and more manageable than when he had saved it before, and waddled back out to the main room. He frowned when he saw the others all carrying various weapons and he shifted his book under one arm and grabbed a particularly vicious-looking axe off a stool, gazing at it solemnly before nodding and gripping the handle as tight as he could.

“What should we do?” Bjorn asked urgently, clearly about to panic. Athelstan frowned; that couldn’t be a good sign at all. “Should we run?!”

“No.” Lagertha replied as calmly as she could, gathering up her own weapons and shield and moving to stand between the children and the door. “We stay. Your father will be back.”

“But there are too many of them!” Bjorn cried. Athelstan’s frown deepened and he quietly relocated himself behind the others, still gripping his book and his axe.

Lagertha turned to look at Bjorn reassuringly. “Stay strong,” she ordered quietly. “Be ready…”

Bjorn looked as though he would rather just find somewhere to hide, but he took a deep breath and gripped his axe firmly to stop his hands shaking. Gyda glanced behind her at Athelstan and patted his hair lightly to try and comfort him as the sound of screams and whinnying horses drew nearer. Suddenly there was the sound of a scuffle outside and the entire family readied themselves for the inevitable battle when Ragnar suddenly appeared from the yard, limping and clutching his shoulder and already covered in blood. “Father!” Bjorn rushed to him, almost dropping his axe, and was closely followed by Lagertha who frowned as she saw the wounds.

“You’re hurt!”

“You have to go,” Ragnar muttered, gritting his teeth. He limped over to the back of the house and knelt by a ledge tucked away in a corner, beginning to clear away the items that had been placed there. Athelstan followed him, feeling somewhat hurt that he hadn’t received even so much as a pat on the head.

“What’s going on?” Bjorn asked desperately, almost pushing Athelstan out of the way to get to Ragnar. “Father, please tell me!”

“You have to get to the boat,” Ragnar responded, groaning as he ripped away the wooden panels to reveal a hole with a passageway leading away from the house.

“Are you coming?” Lagertha lifted Athelstan away from the chaos and the possibility of any flying splinters, setting him down beside Bjorn before turning back to Ragnar.

Ragnar winced as he reached up to grip her arm, gently but firmly pushing her towards the ledge. “Go,” he ordered. Lagertha nodded slightly, still looking worried, and climbed up into the hole. “Quickly, Gyda!” Ragnar took Gyda’s hand and helped her up after her mother and they both soon disappeared into the passageway.

Bjorn stepped forwards, frowning, and placed his hand on his father’s arm and shook his head. “Father, I won’t go without you –“ he began.

“Boy, don’t argue!” Ragnar grunted slightly in his exasperation, cutting him off. He spotted Athelstan blinking up at him with his large blue eyes and he bent down, grasping the front of the boy’s tunic with his good hand and hauling him up onto the ledge. “You be a good boy and stay with the others,” he said urgently, wiping away the tears he could see starting to pool in Athelstan’s eyes. “Do as Lagertha tells you, hm?” He wrapped his arm around him in a gentle hug, which Athelstan responded to by dropping his axe and book and wrapping his small arms as much as he could around Ragnar’s neck. Ragnar quickly pulled back far sooner than either of them would have liked and lowered him down into the hole, giving his rump a gentle push as a silent instruction to start crawling after Gyda.

Athelstan heard Bjorn keep arguing with Ragnar for a while before hearing him drop down behind him and he sniffled quietly, suddenly remembering that he’d left his book beside the ledge. He thought about turning back to get it but he was fairly certain Bjorn would grab him before he managed to wriggle past. So he kept his eyes on Gyda in front of him and continued to crawl onwards. He was utterly miserable - the tunnel seemed endless and his trousers rubbed uncomfortably against his knees and on top of everything else, he began to feel hungry. Finally, their journey halted for a moment as Lagertha forced down the wicker covering that had been placed at the exit of the passageway and Athelstan took the opportunity to properly mourn the loss of his book. He didn’t have much time to cry, however, as soon they were moving again, out into the sunlight.

They remained crouched by the hole for a while as Athelstan tried to work out where they were. They seemed to be away from the house at least, though there were still men on horses riding around and the odd scream could still be heard. Athelstan frowned deeply and covered his ears, the whole experience setting off a stream of images flashing through his mind – men in brown robes lying in awkward, twisted positions on the ground, one with his head at an odd angle, another with a large cut in his back, another with his face smashed into a red mess. He whimpered and shut his eyes tightly, sniffling.

“Athelstan!” Lagertha hissed softly. “Stop it!” Athelstan didn’t respond. He didn’t even open his eyes. He just kept sitting there, his hands pressed firmly over his ears and tears falling from beneath closed eyelids. Lagertha sighed and gathered him up, careful to avoid nicking him with the blade of her axe. She tucked his head beneath her chin and wrapped her other arm around Gyda before glancing back at Bjorn. “Come on.”

The family moved swiftly, keeping low behind the line of bushes that shielded them from the view of Haraldson’s men. They straightened up a bit as they reached the trees and began running, Lagertha leading them in the direction of the shore. She held Athelstan firmly, giving his head a light kiss whenever she felt his little body trembling as it often did when a wail was on the way. “It’s alright, little one…” she whispered in his ear. “We’ll be safe, there’s no need to worry…” She sensed Gyda and Bjorn relaxing a little as she kept muttering to Athelstan, the older two apparently feeling a little reassured by her words as well. Still, it didn’t stop her sending prayer after prayer to every god she could think of in concern for Ragnar.

They eventually reached the shore and they rushed to the wooden fishing boat that was beached there. Lagertha lay Athelstan down carefully and helped Gyda up into it, helping Bjorn push it down into the water to let the current catch it. The pair quickly clamboured into the boat and Lagertha took Athelstan, holding him in her arms as she lay down, instructing Bjorn and Gyda to do the same. She held Athelstan loosely and reached out to take Gyda’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as the seemingly-empty boat slowly drifted out across the water.

It wasn’t much longer before there was a smell of burning and a sudden thundering of hooves as a dozen horses galloped past them along the shoreline and Lagertha waited until the sound had faded before slowly raising her head. There was no one there but one of the fishing huts had been set on fire and all along the shore were bodies of men and slaughtered animals. She felt Bjorn and Gyda shift and come up beside her and the three of them gazed in solemn silence at the sight. Lagertha felt Athelstan trying to twist in her arms and she kept hold of him tightly, pressing his head against her shoulder. Seeing such things would surely only send him into a panic…

The boat kept drifting, away from the shore and the burning hut and out towards the cliffs. Lagertha frowned, wondering briefly if they would need to jump out or find something to paddle with in case they were forced onto the rocks but Bjorn sensed her worry and shook his head a little. He knew from going fishing with his father there was a current that pulled away from the cliffs. At the most, they would just need to guide the boat into the current. Lagertha nodded a little and glanced back at the cliffs, frowning again as something caught her eye at the top. She peered up against the sun and gasped, sitting up straight. “There he is!”

The others sat up too and Athelstan managed to wriggle round and they all gazed up at Ragnar’s silhouette as he stood on the edge of the cliff. He seemed to sway for a moment before lurching and falling forwards. Bjorn gasped, Gyda grabbed her mother’s arm and time seemed to slow down as Ragnar fell until he hit the water with a loud splash. Instantly, the four of them were scrambling over each other to reach the edge of the boat and peer into the water. Athelstan wriggled out of Lagertha’s grip and crawled forwards as well until a sharp lurch of the boat from all the movement caused him to tumble out and into the water with a soft yelp.

Ragnar sank deeper into the darkness beneath the water, his wounds screaming and making it seem like far too much effort to try and move them. Above him, he could hear voices whispering urgently to each other and he struggled for a moment to try and understand the garbled language before deciding that that, too, was too difficult. He closed his eyes and sank down further into the darkness before feeling something brush against his fingers. He opened his eyes again and looked up to see something small clutching desperately at his hand and kicking its little legs wildly. Ragnar frowned a little at the strange sight and tried to help the little thing, fighting against the pain and the weariness to show it how to kick its legs up towards the light. _When you pass through the waters, I shall be with you._ Ragnar frowned slightly at the whisper and shook his head, looking up at the light and tugging the tiny thing up beside him. Now that he was focusing again, he could feel his lungs bursting and straining for air and he kicked his legs harder, gasping as he finally broke the surface of the water. Almost immediately, the weariness settled on him again and he was about to let himself slip under again before he felt several hands grabbing him and rough wood scratch his back as he was hauled into the boat, a dripping wet Athelstan being hauled up with him, still clutching his hand and trembling. “Father?!” Ragnar closed his eyes as he heard Bjorn’s voice dimly, too weary to respond beyond a sigh as he let the darkness overtake him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So brief heads up: this is the first (and probably only S1) chapter that's not a variation on an existing scene. I just had a mental image and it was too cute/bittersweet to pass up...

Athelstan couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned and wriggled about as he lay sandwiched between Bjorn and Gyda but everything was wrong. His stomach felt somehow too full from the stew that had been made for their supper and too empty at the same time and he rubbed it, frowning to himself. He eventually gave up trying to make himself sleep and sat up, gazing solemnly across the fire at Ragnar. He had finally woken up briefly as they had been eating, but it hadn't taken him long to fall asleep again. Everyone else had seemed relieved when he had woken but Athelstan couldn't help feeling afraid. It wasn't the same Ragnar - he hadn't hugged him or offered to play... He hadn't even really acknowledged him.

The child sighed and crawled out from the tangle of limbs that surrounded him, letting out a world-weary sigh as he pushed himself up onto his feet and tottered unsteadily over to where Ragnar lay. He had almost made it when he felt himself being swept into the air and he let out a mournful whine, squirming to try and see who had captured him.

Floki gazed at the child, his head tilted to the side as he shifted Athelstan to hold him up by the front of his tunic. The corners of his mouth twitched in a brief smile and he shook his head slowly, giggling as the boy frowned at him for a moment then slowly copied the movement. "You must not disturb Ragnar..." Floki whispered, poking Athelstan's forehead lightly. "The gods need the darkness to work their healing powers on him..." He slowly crept forwards, still dangling Athelstan in the air by his tunic, lowered him a little so that he could look at Ragnar.

Athelstan peered down at his guardian, frowning thoughtfully. Ragnar looked so peaceful that if it weren't for the various bruises and the bandages wrapped around him, it would seem as though nothing had happened. "He... Sleeping..?"

Floki chuckled and nodded, flicking the boy's ear. "Indeed. He must sleep and regain his strength. He was badly wounded, little one...but the gods worked through me and now he will live. But he must sleep. And so must you!" He gave Athelstan's nose a final poke and turned from Ragnar to carry him back to his designated sleeping area.

Athelstan pouted and whined, shaking his head firmly. "Can't sleep!" he practically cried. "Can't!" He folded his little arms awkwardly across his chest, almost causing Floki to lose his grip on his tunic. Floki's expression instantly switched to one of alarm as he heard Athelstan's voice getting louder and he did the first thing he could think of and quickly rushed outside with him.

Once out in the cool night air, he placed Athelstan on the ground and slid down the wall of his hut until he had lowered himself into a crouch, watching the boy like a hawk as he waddled about on the path. He had never seen such an odd child: so inquisitive and yet apparently so fearful. He remembered his father telling him of a time when Floki himself was a boy of Athelstan's age....how he had gone searching for an adventure one night and had been found the next morning by the sea, curled up and crying and hissing at the waves. He could almost imagine this odd Saxon boy doing the same. The thought made him giggle and he scratched his beard. It was a shame the child  _was_ a Saxon. Floki had now firmly made up his mind that the people from the land in the west were worse than useless... Still, maybe with Ragnar's help in raising him, maybe the boy would grow up the same as Bjorn had, into a fine warrior, a son to be proud of.

On a sudden impulse, Floki grabbed Athelstan and tugged him down to sit beside him. "You will be a fine man one day..." he whispered, gazing into the boy's wide nervous blue eyes. "You will be a warrior like Ragnar. You will know everything about the gods and you will sail far and wide in my boats and discover new worlds and riches for us. I know it!" He nodded firmly and Athelstan nodded back uncertainly. "Ragnar and his family have been blessed by the gods. And now you are too. The gods will have great plans for you, Athelstan... And I shall help you. I shall tell you all I know of them." And so he began to tell Athelstan every story he could think of, and Athelstan listened with wide eyes until his mind could no longer process everything being said to him and Floki could no longer remember accurately which god had been responsible for what. In the end, it was almost impossible to tell who fell asleep first. When Helga and Lagertha rose early the next morning, they discovered the two of them bundled against the wall of the hut, Floki curled up in his usual feline sleeping position, a smile on his face as he dreamed of his gods, and Athelstan lying sprawled out next to him, dreaming of a little bed somewhere across the sea with a wooden carving above it of a young man stretched out on a cross.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So believe it or not I actually had this chapter all planned out before THAT episode aired, and now that I've only just recovered from it, I figured I should stop procrastinating and actually write the thing. Because in this fandom, there is no such thing as too much pain...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I kind of fell off the face of the earth (along with this fic), and there is a very simple explanation for that: namely, season 3 of Vikings knocked me out of the fandom somewhat - except for the first episode. That one was good. But the rest of it? I could happily pass on it, if I'm honest (and it's not just to do with the fate of everyone's favourite Saxon Viking, really his whole plotline that season infuriated me for various reasons). And I still haven't watched season 4. So yeah, that killed my muse for this for a long while, but for some reason it's been revived again and I had this thing all planned out. Hopefully the length of this newest offering will make some of you happy, so once more unto the breach, dear friends...

Athelstan clung firmly to Floki's hand as he watched his family step off the boat onto the small wooden pier. News of Ragnar's challenge to the Earl had spread like fire through the town and there was already a large crowd gathered to welcome them and to watch the fighting. Lagertha had sent Athelstan back to Kattegat with Floki, partly to keep Ragnar focused on the fight he was to face and partly to prevent Athelstan from seeing the process of the sacrifice they needed to perform to bring Ragnar luck – she had noticed that in the few days they’d been staying with Floki and Helga, he’d been growing far too attached to the young goat to be fine to see what would become of it. Floki hardly seemed thrilled at the prospect of having to take care of the child for several hours on his own, but he soon accepted that Lagertha wouldn’t change her mind, and not even Ragnar would help him out of her request. Overall, the worst part of the whole ordeal had been convincing Athelstan to get into the boat to sail back to Kattegat. Floki supposed the boy’s initial refusal was somewhat understandable given his previous experiences with boats, but for all his wailing and struggling – Floki regretted ever having thought Athelstan would never make a good fighter – it had merely taken Floki promising him that he could help to sail it to convince him to get in the boat. Once they were both safely in the boat, Floki handed Athelstan a piece of rope and told him to pull on it to change their direction. It didn’t really matter that the rope merely trailed along in the water behind them like a snake, it certainly kept Athelstan happy.

Ragnar couldn’t help smiling through his pain as he spotted the pair of them, silently thanking Odin that Athelstan looked unhurt and, under the circumstances, relatively calm. He limped his way over to them and, after giving a quick grateful nod to Floki, knelt down in front of Athelstan, brushing his curls out of his eyes and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t look so worried,” he said softly, forcing a smile. Athelstan merely stared at him for a few moments before forcing a smile of his own. Ragnar patted his head and stood carefully, keeping his hand on Athelstan’s shoulder for support. Floki gave his friend an encouraging pat on the hand before hoisting Athelstan up and onto his shoulders, his height allowing the child to see over the heads of the crowd as Ragnar limped away.

Athelstan gnawed at the sleeve of his tunic worriedly as he kept his eyes fixed on Ragnar. He barely noticed Haraldson and his steward making their way through the crowd but when he did, he couldn’t help let out a little growl. Floki giggled and patted Athelstan’s leg, shaking his head. “Ragnar is doing the fighting today, not you.” Athelstan merely folded his arms in response, seeming almost determined to spend the rest of the day in a sulk. Floki giggled again and turned his attention back to the arena where Svein had finished announcing the terms of the fight and the two men were receiving their first shield and weapon. As Haraldson threw his shield away, prompting Ragnar to do the same, Floki hummed to himself and couldn’t resist a little grin. At least this fight would prove to be interesting. Athelstan caught his attention again by tugging at his ear and he tilted his head to look up at the child. “I don’t know who your western father was,” he whispered, “but you are very lucky to have Ragnar Lothbrok. If he dies today, Odin could not wish for a better warrior.”

At the mention of Ragnar dying, Athelstan’s eyes widened and his lower lip trembled. Floki hissed as he felt a sharp poke in his side and he turned to see Arne shaking his head at him. “If that is how you go about comforting young ones, Floki, it is probably a good thing the gods have not yet given you a child,” Arne muttered. Floki let out an annoyed squeak in response and looked about to speak when the thud of metal on wood sounded and everyone’s attention was caught by the start of the fight.

Despite never really having had any interest in such matters before, Floki quickly became swept up in the battle, twice nearly pitching Athelstan off his shoulders with his enthusiasm – first when Ragnar broke his sword across Haraldson’s shield, and then seconds later when Ragnar managed to break both their shields through a short series of attacks. During the break in the fighting as both men took axes as their new weapons, Floki glanced up at Athelstan to make sure the boy was alright. Athelstan sat completely still and silent on Floki’s shoulders, gazing at the pair of warriors not with fear, as Floki had predicted, but with something close to fascination. Even as the fighting resumed and Haraldson appeared to gain the upper hand, whenever Floki looked up at Athelstan, he sat with the same expression on his face. The only change happened when Ragnar finally had his enemy down on the sand, when he sliced Haraldson’s wrist and Siggy cried out in protest, rushing to her husband’s side. Floki looked up at Athelstan, prepared to lift him down away from the sight of it all, but Athelstan still stared at the action, his expression the same as it had been throughout the fight, but now with a small frown pressing his brows together. As Rollo quickly killed Svein and Siggy stabbed her daughter’s old husband – causing Floki to move back quickly as the old man collapsed at his feet – the frown deepened and Athelstan wobbled slightly as he peered thoughtfully at the dead body beneath him. When everyone took their cue from Siggy and knelt, proclaiming Ragnar as the new Earl, Floki glanced at Arne and Leif, both of whom had also noticed Athelstan’s unusual behaviour, and tilted his head in a shrug.

* * *

Several hours later, Athelstan sat on the steps outside his new home, having been left there by Floki who claimed his back and shoulders needed a break after having been carrying him about all day. Everywhere Athelstan looked people were celebrating and having fun, and even he had been asked by some of the other children if he wanted to join them in recreating the fight they had just seen, though he had stubbornly refused to participate in their games. Soon he heard the thud and shuffle that announced Ragnar’s arrival and he quickly folded his arms and turned to fix him with a stern look. Ragnar paused for a moment as he took in Athelstan’s expression before chuckling quietly as he carefully sat beside him, placing his stick across his lap to keep it safe. “What is that look for, little one? I have been very busy, and you’ve worn Floki out. You were not on your own for long.”

Athelstan huffed and continued sitting in silence for a moment before shuffling round to face Ragnar. “You did a bad thing,” he announced sternly, prodding Ragnar’s arm.

Ragnar sighed and moved his stick before gently tugging Athelstan close to him. “I had to, little one. He did bad things too. He was our enemy.”

Athelstan wrinkled his nose, and Ragnar waited patiently for him to process the information. “Then…what’s that for?” He pointed to the docks, where the process of Haraldson’s pyre being built was just visible.

Ragnar watched them work in silence briefly before looking back down at Athelstan. “It’s for his funeral. I ordered it to be grand for him.” At Athelstan’s confused look, Ragnar took a deep breath, wondering how to explain it. “He was my enemy, but he was also a great man. And warrior. He earned his renown in this life and now, in death, he deserves such a funeral.” He watched as Athelstan pondered this and slowly stood up, ruffling the boy’s hair. “It is a happy day, Athelstan. Even for him, for he is with the gods. For us, there is no greater way to die than in battle.”

He held out his hand and Athelstan, after studying it for a moment, wiped his nose on his sleeve and pushed himself to his feet, taking Ragnar’s hand and hopping down the steps to splash in a muddy puddle. The pair of them wandered through the crowds of people celebrating with Ragnar allowing Athelstan to guide the way. After a (fairly predictable) stop by a group of sheep and goats gathered by a tent which Athelstan instantly insisted on petting – not that Ragnar minded at all – the boy became distracted by the quiet sound of singing coming from inside the tent and he trotted over to it to investigate. Ragnar noticed him disappearing inside it and hobbled after him as fast as he could.

Inside the tent, Athelstan was staring at a young woman who was the source of the singing. Her feet were being wiped clean and she took large gulps from a cup that was constantly being kept filled to the brim. Athelstan couldn’t help smiling as he listened to her, the singing reminding him of his previous home across the sea. Ragnar entered the tent behind him and grabbed Athelstan’s hand, holding it tightly. “Who is she?” Athelstan asked, feeling like he should whisper so he didn’t interrupt the song – he remembered an old man being angry with him and another boy for talking too loudly over someone singing.

“She is one of the Earl’s slaves.” Ragnar wasn’t quite sure why he was talking so quietly as Athelstan had done, but it seemed only right. “When he died, all of his slave women were asked who wants to die with him. This one agreed. The others are preparing her.” The smile disappeared from Athelstan’s face to be replaced with the familiar look of being close to tears as he looked at the woman who grinned back at them drunkenly. Ragnar gave Athelstan’s hand a gentle tug and hauled him out of the tent.

* * *

Athelstan trotted by himself back towards the hall, having been ordered there by Ragnar. He slipped a little in the mud and grasped a nearby pole to steady himself. All around him, men and women cheered and shouted as the drink had obviously given way (and contributed) to more boisterous methods of entertainment. Limbs flailed about in the mud as Athelstan hesitantly continued on his path to the hall. He had almost made it when he felt something hit his back with such force that he lost his footing and slipped, landing spread-eagled face down in the mud. A whoop and burst of laughter reached his ears and he rolled over and sat up, blinking and wiping the mud away from his eyes to glare at a boy not much older than himself. “Wasn’t ready!” he announced firmly, smearing the last of the mud off his face and gathering up a ball of it to launch at his attacker.

As Athelstan threw it, the other boy – having seriously overestimated Athelstan’s throwing ability - instantly ducked behind a pole, leaving the mud to splatter messily on the ground a few feet from where it had been thrown. Athelstan frowned and struggled to his feet as the boy laughed at him and the two of them began a fierce chase through the town, occasionally launching mud at each other as they went. By the time they bumped into Rollo – quite literally – they were both covered in it. The two boys gazed up in a mixture of awe and terror as Rollo towered over them, the scars on his face adding to the effect, and he fixed Athelstan’s opponent with a fierce glare. “Einar Thorvaldsson,” he growled, causing the child to shiver with fear. “Don’t you know it’s a great crime to attack an Earl’s son with mud?” As soon as Athelstan realised he wasn’t in trouble, he shot Einar a smug smile and scurried behind Rollo who crouched down, looking the young boy in the eye with a solemn expression. “If you go and get me some ale, I promise I will not tell Earl Ragnar that you threw mud at Athelstan. Otherwise you shall be made to eat nothing but cabbages until you receive your arm-ring!” Einar let out a squeak of fear and instantly took off in the vague direction of one of the tubs of ale that stood scattered about. Rollo chuckled to himself and glanced at Athelstan, rolling his eyes before wiping mud from his face with his cloak. “I do not understand you,” he muttered as he worked, ignoring Athelstan’s squirming. “You despise being washed and yet you insist on making yourself filthy.” He shook his head and studied Athelstan’s now-clean face. “There is a gift for you in the hall. It is not much but it’s the least I could get you. Now that you’re finally starting to look like you belong here.” He stood up and gave Athelstan a little nudge in the direction of the hall. “Go and fetch it. I want to see if you like it.” Athelstan obediently set off towards the hall and Rollo watched him, somewhat glad that the scars and his beard made it difficult for anyone to see how fondly he was smiling.

* * *

It was late into the afternoon when the crowd began heading down to the docks, and Athelstan made his way down with them, keeping a tight grip on Bjorn’s sleeve and frowning down at his legs as they seemed to have trouble working. They had been in that state ever since Bjorn had told him to drink a horn filled with whatever it was that had been in the tubs around the town. Of course, he blamed his brother entirely for the whole thing but since Bjorn seemed to be suffering from the same thing – albeit a bit less than Athelstan was – he could only assume that either the man on the cross in his old book or one of the other gods was punishing Bjorn for it.

The Earl’s body was carried ahead of the procession with Siggy and Thyri following close behind it. Athelstan frowned as the crowd halted and the gaps in front of them closed, blocking his view. He tugged on Bjorn’s sleeve and whined until the older boy groaned and pushed forward through the crowd until the two of them were at the front. Now able to see what was happening, Athelstan settled comfortably and watched with some fascination as the body was placed on the boat, on top of the thing he had seen them building earlier. The crowd parted like a wave and Athelstan turned his head to see Leif and Arne leading the woman he had seen in the tent down towards the boat, with Torstein following behind. They took her to a tall woman with wool-white hair and odd markings on her face. Athelstan frowned and tugged at Bjorn’s cape to get his attention. “Bjorn! Who is she?”

“We call her the Angel of Death,” Bjorn replied as though it was the most obvious fact in the world. Athelstan turned his gaze back to the woman and shivered, crossing himself. He wasn’t really even sure exactly what compelled him to make the gesture, only that it seemed like the right thing to be done. Bjorn completely ignored him.

The two boys watched silently as the slave-girl peeled off the jewellery she wore and passed it to the woman, who handed her a cup in return from which the girl drank deeply. Athelstan frowned, not understanding how she could still be so thirsty after all he had seen her drinking in the tent. The girl finished her drink and passed back the cup before staring into the distance with a blank look. “I can see my master,” she exclaimed joyfully to the silent crowd. “He is in Valhalla! He calls to me!” She turned to look at the woman, seeming to almost come back into her own body as she did so. “Let me join him, then.”

At this, the crowd erupted in cheers and Athelstan squirmed uncomfortably, as though he could sense something was about to happen, and he turned away only to have Bjorn grab his arm and hold him still. “What’s the matter with you?” he hissed at the younger boy.

“I don’t want to watch,” Athelstan replied quietly, giving his arm a half-hearted tug to try and convince Bjorn to let go.

It didn’t work. “It’s only death. You stay or Father will hear of it!” Bjorn glared at Athelstan fiercely until he settled down and turned back to watch. The woman took a knife from her sleeve and, with a few tugs, had drawn it across the girl’s neck. The cheering increased and Bjorn barely noticed the sound of Athelstan’s sniffles beside him, or the fact that his hand released Athelstan’s arm. As Leif, Arne and Torstein carried the girl onto the boat to lay her beside Haraldson, he glanced round and finally noticed his brother had disappeared back into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's so weird rewatching the old episodes knowing how things end up later. Like Floki and Athelstan at the start of this episode really had this whole friendship thing going and Leif and Arne and Torstein are being their awesome selves and there's Thyri and Gyda and Siggy and funny!Bjorn and Ragnar and Lagertha are together and in love and just... Hirst has a lot to answer for.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post on Tumblr. I saw the post and the plot bunny attacked, so...this is what we get. And I'm not even that sorry.


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